Stitching a Broken Heart
by whitetiger91
Summary: Although she appears healed, Walburga's heart is more broken than Orion could've ever imagined.


**_This story was written for The Houses Competition, Year 5, Round 5. _**

**_House/team: Gryffindor_**

**_Class subject: Defence Against the Dark Arts_**

**_Story category: Standard_**

**_Prompt: 3. [Emotion] heartbroken_**

**_Word count: 2492 words (Google docs)_**

**_Beta: White Eyebrow, Verity Grahams_**

**_Extra: 'It' is used by Orion to refer to Kreacher because, in his eyes, house-elves are so beneath him he doesn't need to know/use their names or sex. I hope you've never had your heart broken, but if you have, you'll understand just how hurt Walburga is from the start._**

* * *

**Stitching a Broken Heart**

Orion sighed as he walked down the stairs, each step causing pain to shoot up his legs and through his hips. The pain was not new—he was foolish to think he wasn't ageing—but coupled with a searing headache, he wasn't sure how much longer he could bear it. It certainly didn't help that, once again, the source of his headache was coming from the living room.

"You filthy beast!"

He winced as his wife's shrieks echoed around the house. Every day that month, since they'd received news of Regulus' death, she'd thrown a tantrum. She'd knock over the furniture, cursing anyone who dared cross her path. She'd demand that they bring her son back, to revive him, to admit that his death was all their fault. She'd only stop when she could no longer draw breath, often collapsing on the floor.

Taking a deep breath, Orion entered the room, passing a cabinet with a long, deep gash across its polished surface—a victim of her last tantrum. As expected, Walburga was sitting in her armchair, her cheeks flushed and dark eyes flashing. She jabbed a finger at the cowering house-elf before her, the wine in her other hand sloshing around the goblet.

"When I said I want my soup hot, I want it _hot!_ Do you want to be stuffed and mounted on the wall?" she screeched, strands of greying hair flying about her face.

"Walburga, I've told you, no one can bring Reg—what did you say?" Orion stopped as her words sank in.

The elf took its chance and Disapparated, taking with it Walburga's bowl of soup.

"I thought I smelled something foul," Walburga said, sniffing. "What do you want?"

"I thought a Banshee may have got into the house again," he said, massaging his temple. "I see you're eating again."

Apart from her tantrums, Walburga had taken to depriving herself of most comforts. She'd refused to eat more than a bite of food, drank only water, and had even neglected to take care of her body. What was once smooth, plump skin on her face was now pasty and stretched over hollow cheekbones.

It seemed that she was back on the road to recovery, however. Apart from eating, he noticed that she was wearing new robes; gone were the tattered, ill-fitting black set she'd worn all month.

"It's none of your business," she snapped, taking a sip of wine. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get back to planning. I've fallen behind in preparations for the Christmas ball."

As she shifted, he saw something woolly poking out from between her thigh and the chair's arm; it was most likely part of the decorations. Turning his attention to the goblet of crimson wine, he decided not to bother commenting further. If wine and mindless party-planning was what helped dull her pain—and stopped that darn shrieking—then he wouldn't disturb the peace.

Clutching his pounding head, he left the room.

* * *

Although the pain through his muscles persisted, Orion was glad to find that his headaches had reduced in severity. There were a few times in which they'd return, but after years of marriage, he'd become used to Walburga's ranting and raving about the wretched house-elf's poor service. She'd thrown no more tantrums over their son, and as time wore on, a relative peace settled over 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Now, which centrepieces did we decide on? I personally prefer the lilies."

It didn't mean he wanted to engage in conversation with her, though. As quietly as his footsteps would allow, he tiptoed past the parlour. As she'd promised, Walburga had taken to organising her precious ball, and now his home had been invaded by several of her 'friends.' Their careful chuckling, gossiping, and snide comments filtered out of the room into the hallway, and he dreaded being caught. All he needed was to fetch his potions from the kitchen—unfortunately, with Walburga hogging the house-elf, he'd had to venture downstairs himself—and he could retreat back to safety.

"So, Walburga, tell us… how are you coping after your son, well, you know…"

Orion froze. Why couldn't those nosy women just mind their own business?

He poked his head around the doorframe, seeing Druella leaning across the table towards his wife. There was a sympathetic smile on his sister-in-law's face, but her blue eyes were alight with interest. She'd certainly know it when Walburga started ranting again.

Walburga didn't even flinch, however. With a broad smile that sent a shiver down his back, she said, "I'm very proud of Reggie."

"So… you're not upset?" Druella pressed on.

Orion cursed her under his breath, but Walburga simply blinked. "Why would I be? He's such a good boy. He's going to buy me a new diamond necklace for Christmas. Oh, but don't worry, I'm sure your son would do the same—if you had one."

Druella scowled and leant back in her chair. She didn't seem to pick up on exactly what Walburga had said.

"What do you mean, he's planning to buy you jewellery? How could he possibly do that when he's de—when he's not here?" Orion asked. Even his own heart panged at the thought.

Forgetting his plan to remain hidden, he stepped into the room. He could feel the women's eyes on him, but he was focused only on his wife. Why was she pretending that their son was alive? Everyone had already heard that their heir had passed, the exact details of how it'd happened varying with each rumour.

She sat up straighter, her thin lips pursed and grey eyes narrowed.

"He'll probably get you something nice, too," she said, before looking back at her guests and chuckling. "Men, always jealous that they're not their child's favourite."

The women shared confused glances, but dutifully laughed along.

His silver brows furrowed. "You're speaking as though he's still alive."

Walburga's eyes snapped to him again and her nostrils flared. Her gnarled hand clutched at something on the seat next to her as she said, "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

Orion glanced around the room again, looking for support. The witches all looked away, some gleeful that the great Walburga Black appeared to be losing her mind, but no one dared say anything. With a sigh, he turned away, vowing to sort it out later.

* * *

"I'm going to Diagon Alley tomorrow," Walburga said.

Orion's eyes were trained on her fork. He watched as she stabbed it into a boiled squash and slowly lifted it to her mouth.

"Will you stop staring at me?" she snapped, the fork hovering before her thin lips.

"I'm just making sure you're eating—not that you need it," he said.

Walburga's robes were still rather baggy on her frame, but she'd gained a little more weight. Her temper hadn't changed, though, and with her eyes piercing into him, she took a large bite.

"Happy? As I was saying before, I'm going shopping tomorrow. Regulus needs new robes."

With a clatter that echoed around the dining room, he dropped his fork.

Walburga raised her eyebrow, taking another bite. "Is there a problem?"

"You've got to stop acting this way! Cry, yell, rant and rave—do whatever you have to. Just stop pretending Regulus is alive! He's dead—" he choked on the word. Taking a deep breath, he repeated, "Our son is dead."

"He is not."

"You're sick. He's not here! Why, you've even set a place for him when he can't eat!" he said, his chest rising and falling.

He glared at the space at the table next to Walburga, where the elf had set cutlery, a napkin, and a plate of steaming vegetables on the placemat. He missed Regulus—more than he ever thought he would—but as much as he would've loved to be eating with him, he couldn't indulge in such nonsense. He'd accepted the facts, and Walburga needed to as well. He almost wished she went back to not eating or washing; at least then, her heart would have a chance to heal.

She clicked her tongue, turning to the chair next to her. "Don't listen to him, Reggie; as usual, your father's too thick to know the truth."

Scraping back his chair, Orion peered over the table—and regretted it instantly. There, propped up on the chair, was the same woolly object he'd mistaken for a decoration months ago. The knitted doll stared at him with its grey button eyes. Strands of dark-brown wool sprouted from its head, and a small napkin was tied around its neck.

He was sure he was going to be sick as he realised it looked like Regulus. It had to be a joke.

"What," he swallowed, "is _that?_"

There was no trace of amusement on Walburga's face as she looked at him. "Not 'what,' who. It's our son," she said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm warning you, Walburga, I'm not in the mood…"

"For Merlin's sake, Orion, stop stressing." She turned to the doll and, scooping up some more squash with her fork, proceeded to wave it about its stitched mouth. "Would Reggie like some din-dins?"

"Enough!" He slammed his palms against the table, unsure if he was disgusted or scared.

Walburga didn't look at him, though, too busy cooing at the doll. "If you don't like it, leave," she muttered.

His heart thudding in his chest, Orion could only watch on. Walburga was more broken than he'd realised.

* * *

"How dare you tell me to be calm? Stop snivelling and find him!"

Orion's heart skipped a beat as his wife's voice echoed around the house. For a moment, he was sure she was back to grieving properly—even if that meant throwing a tantrum. He knew better than to assume so, however, and despite his aching limbs, he raced down the stairs to the living room.

The house-elf was crouched in the corner. "Kreacher doesn't know where he is, Mistress. Kreacher will find him, though, because Kreacher is a good elf, he is. A loyal elf, a—"

"Just find him!" she shrieked, throwing a cushion at the elf's bald green head.

It bowed in apology, and with a snap of its bony fingers, Disapparated.

"How am I expected to rest up when you're screaming the house down?" Orion said, stepping over an overturned coffee table.

Walburga spun around, pointing a shaking finger at him. "You did this! Where is he? Where's my son?"

He pinched his nose, feeling yet another migraine coming on. "If you're referring to Regulus, he's dead, his body resting who knows where—"

"Where is he?" Walburga shrieked, pouncing on him.

She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. Her pupils were dilated, and as he stood his ground, staring into her watery eyes, he saw that there was no trace of the woman he'd married. Sighing, he gently pried her fingers off him one by one.

"Listen to me: it's just a _doll._"

Snarling, she pushed him away and stomped around the room. She kicked at the cushions on the floor and sent glass ornaments crashing to the floor, which shattered into a thousand pieces.

Just as Orion withdrew his wand, ready to use any means necessary to stop her, she froze. Her eyes widened, and she spluttered as she pointed at the buffet table. He watched as she launched across the room, snatching up the doll that'd been sitting atop it.

"There you are, Reggie! Naughty boy, playing tricks on Mummy," she said, smothering the doll against her chest. "Mummy thought she'd lost you forever."

Orion looked down at his shoes, his heart shattering like the glass ornaments. He wanted—no, _needed_—his wife to heal.

* * *

"Be careful, and for Merlin's sake, don't tell your wife!" Orion said, leading his brother down the narrow hallway.

They paused outside the living room door, and Cygnus turned to him. His blue eyes scanned his body; although his back hurt, Orion tried straightening his hunched shoulders.

"You're the one I should really check on. Have you seen the Healers?" he whispered.

Orion rolled his eyes. "I'm fine."

With all the time he'd spent watching over Walburga, his body had deteriorated further, his age becoming his enemy. He didn't care anymore, though. Almost everyone who he even remotely cared about was gone now, and as he pushed open the door, peering inside, he realised that included the most important person of all.

"Let's just get this over with," he said, walking inside.

Cygnus followed him, his wand withdrawn. Walburga didn't look up at either of them, her eyes focused on the doll in her lap. There was a book propped open next to it, and as they drew further into the room, Orion realised that it was a child's fairytale book. He glanced at his brother, seeing realisation dawn on the man's pale face of just how bad she was.

"The last Peverell brother..." She stopped reading, and with a disdainful sniff, glanced over at them. "Looks like your father's brought in a stray again, Reggie."

Her eyes narrowed as they trailed down to Cygnus' hand, but it was too late. The blond flicked his wand and the doll zoomed towards him, leaving Walburga clutching at thin air.

Orion was ready for her. As she leapt up, her cheeks turning crimson, he hurried over and wrapped his arms around her body as tightly as possible. She thrashed about, her eyes were focused on the doll.

"Give me my son back!" she said, clawing at his hands. "Get your filthy hands off him!"

He bit back the pain and looked at Cygnus. The man was holding the doll by its arm, a look of disgust barely disguised on his handsome features. He shrugged as if to say, 'What do I do with it?'

Struggling to keep a grip on Walburga, who was now trying to bite him, he mouthed, 'Get rid of it.'

With a nod, Cygnus turned on the spot and vanished from sight.

"_Noooooo!_ My son! You can't take my son away from me again!"

Great sobs wracked Walburga's body, and as Orion looked at her face, he saw tears streaking down it. Her breathing was rattly, and soon, she went limp in his arms.

"Not my son! Please, not my son," she said, her words coming out in quiet gasps. "Not my son."

Despite his aching knees, Orion sank to the ground with her, drawing her even tighter against his body. She shook in his arms, her tears soaking his robes. Each agony-filled moan she let out struck his heart, tearing it in half, then half again, until he was sure that it was no more than a few flimsy pieces floating around his chest.

"Why? Why me? No. _Nooooooo._ Not my Regulus, please, no…"

Traitorous tears stung his own eyes, but he didn't bother wiping them as he found himself repeating Walburga's cries. "Not another son…"

He closed his eyes, pressing against his wife and realising that, doll or no doll, neither of them could ever truly heal.


End file.
